


The First Time

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age One Shots [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fenris smut, Fluff, Reunion, Smut, small angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 15:26:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: This is their first time. Their real first time.





	The First Time

“Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

He waits for her to stand there and forgive him. After everything that she’s done. The wrong. The disaster after disaster. And by some way, he is the one that is asking her to take him back, when she should be the one to ask him. It’s because he thinks he’s the broken one. But he’s never been broken. 

She gives him the only answer she ever could. “I understand. I always understood.”

There it is.The fact that he can hardly believe, laid ingrained in his eyes, green as the forest. After all these years, perhaps it is difficult to believe. But to make him believe, she takes his hand and rises. “Fenris,” she says, a plea of her own. Please, believe. 

“If there is a future to be had,” he says, a gloved hand on her cheek, slowly, gradually, beginning to believe, “I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

Their kisses burn her like a wildfire, and deliver jolts of pleasure that remind her of her own magic that courses through her veins. These kisses are different though. Better, because they have something else written and passed between them as their lips meet. It’s all too surreal for them both, even as her arms tentatively wrap around his shoulders, and his arms find themselves around her waist. The kisses are too warm, and too entirely good for them to be real, this moment too unbelievable to top it all off. Slowly though, the etherealness of this moment dissipates. She’s not somewhere in the clouds or in the fade. Fenris really is here. Perhaps she was the one who found it more difficult to believe, and not he.

“Rhine,” he breathes, and she wants to soar. How often does he call her by her given name? Hardly at all. Once, when her mother died. Once again when they made love for the first, and only time, and he came in her arms. And now. 

Her hands hold his face, and his eyes look into hers, before sliding down her body. Asking.

“This is enough,” she makes sure to tell him. “We don’t—”

“I have thought of this forever.”

A press of lips, initially chaste, turns into something more as their bodies rock back and forth into each other’s. The hard press of his armor is too much, her own flimsy tunic and breeches are out of place in this. She makes a decision then, to wait for him to begin. She is reminded of their last time, and shame flares. In their last time, there was her own false bravado that sent him pinned against the wall of her family’s estate. Desire and lust that catapulted and led him to her bedroom where clothes were removed in a messy heap. Bodies locking together as the fire in the hearth danced, and her own need that screamed for more, more and more. All of it was her back then. He followed her with an equal vigor, but still, she knows that if she could ever go back to that night, she would have done so many things differently, just as he would have. Perhaps then he would have stayed.

Here and now, she is reminded, when his mouth is on her neck, here in the living room of his mansion, drawing heady sighs and hums from her slightly parted lips. Slowly, his hand is peeling away her tunic until it falls to the floor, and she suddenly finds that she doesn’t care about what ifs anymore. Because no matter how much of her life has spiraled out of control, or ever will spiral out of control, she had this moment, right here and now. She hardly ever thanks the Maker. Now, she does. She thanks the Maker for bringing him back to her.

When he begins to remove his armor, she helps him. The steel gauntlets come first, and when they are gone and away she grasps his hands, relishing the feel of his bare palms and fingers. Squeezing, kissing the hard lines and strong digits, then simply holding his large, elegant hands in her own. Holding hands. Something so many couples take for granted. Rhine never will ever again.

And then his bare palms are on her waist, removing her breast band, and they are on her breasts. Drawing circles. Gentle. His hands soon are replaced by his mouth. When he rises to meet her lips again, she helps him with the rest of his armor, as he helps her slide out of her breeches and boots. There’s a hint of awkwardness about it, just as there is a hint of awkwardness in every first time. Though it may not be really their first, it feels that way, as with every new piece of clothing that fell, there was an unabashed wonder in both of them. During their last time together like this, so concerned she was of having all of him, that she only gave the briefest of glances at his body. It was only the joining that mattered, not the before. Part of it too, she knew he was ashamed. But he shouldn’t be. He’s beautiful. 

Tonight, she will make up for that last time. Let him know. He’s the most beautiful thing in her life, and when her eyes sweep down his body and hungrily drink all of him in, she is filled with longing and lust. There is not a single part of him that isn’t cascaded with the markings of the ritual that he endured. They were made with so much pain, but she vow to kiss them and love them all the more. The way she should have done the first time.

But this is the first time.

Gently, he leads her to the sofa and lays her down. She feels his bare body on top of hers, and feels his arousal, warm on her thigh. Her hands, so used to fighting, are gentle against his back and against his markings. His lips are here, there, and everywhere, kissing and touching scars that line her belly. Fire from mages. Scratches and scraps from templars. Not one thing does he not lavish or touch. But he is gentle, and he is not taking this moment for granted.

There is a quivering within her, as he sinks to the ground, crouches, and cups her hips in his hands. She sees that shock of white hair kissing her thighs, nipping and pressing warm kisses. The hands that she loves so much finds hers, and their fingers lock together as his tongue darts over her clit. He makes patterns and swirls, and upon her moaning, encircles it, lapping and sucking. At his fingers inside her she sees the stars, but he brings her back to reality when he blankets his body over hers.

Her hand is tentative as it grasps his length. Soft at first, but when his eyes beg and plead, she guides him to her entrance, waiting for him. Allowing him to be the one. 

Hands feather his markings. All the ones she can touch. The ones on his back, his arms, and his shoulders. “Fenris…”

“Rhine.”

He is cautious at first, until he’s inside her, and then there is no more caution. Only the sound of their bodies joining, the sound of their moans and cries. So many times has she imagined this again, and yet none of her fevered imaginings could ever be this slow and steady assertion of his love. He makes love to her, tells her through his kisses and touches that this is his vow. Never will he leave her again.

Yet as he makes love to her, she can’t help but smile. He’s always been there for her. Always. Even when he said he couldn’t be with her. Even when she fell into the arms of another man. Always was he there.

When he himself is near to seeing the same stars that she saw, she feels as though she is coming with him, and cries out when he reaches his peak inside of her. She’s mesmerized by him loosing himself, and when he cries out her name, looking at her as if she’s a beacon of light, she pleads with him: kiss me. It feels like their first kiss.

Languid and satiated, he settles himself on top of her, and she strokes his hair as his heart rate returns to normal. “This,” she mutters. “This. This was the first time.”

“I won’t leave you again.”

He can’t see the tear that has fallen. “I know,” she says. “I know.”

It’s no lie. And when he falls asleep in her arms, her eyes drift to their fallen clothes near the hearth of the fire.

The red scarf. The crest with her family’s insignia. Since that day, he was never without it. Always was he with her. Always will he remain. Only this time, from her side, never will he leave.


End file.
